


A Goddess of Fire and Blood and Death

by theLilyBird



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLilyBird/pseuds/theLilyBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of Iron Bull/F!Trevelyan drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Sight of Her Lady

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into writing after almost a year without and these drabbles are my practice. They should all take place before Skyhold. After that I plan on being more serious with this.

He could recall their first meeting with perfect clarity. He'd just caved in the skull of some vint mage when he saw her sliding down the ridge through the mud. Her hair was red like blood and soaked from the rain that relentlessly beat the storm coast day and night. Her eyes burned with a green so vibrant it reminded him of Seheron’s forests in the summer. A picture of beauty and elegance even sliding through muck.

 

She landed with grace and rose with brutal intent blazing in her eyes. Something shimmering gold began in her palm and spread into a greatsword that split a vint from head to groin in a single one-handed swing before fading into nothing.

 

A goddess of fire and blood and death took control of the battlefield and even the Chargers seemed in perfect sync with her.

 

She moved fluidly with every twirl of her staff and the world moved with her. She gave no commands and yet they all looked to her for directions. Instinct maybe. Or some twisted and glorious magic. Bull would never really be able to decide either way. It was better as a mystery.

 

She delivered the last vint to his grave by pulling him open from the center in a bloody explosion that rained down over her.  _ A goddess of fire and blood and death,  _ his mind sang over and over as he stood dumbfounded.

 

Her chest heaved and a smile spread on her lips. “You looked like you could use some help,” she said.

 

“We were doing fine.”

 

She just nodded and got straight to business.

 

In battle he'd thought her a warrior goddess, but in reality she was small and shy, polite and kind, gentle and still oh so beautiful. When he mentioned he had a thing for redheads she had flushed and run her fingers through her still soaked hair. He'd made note to get her to blush again.


	2. A Sickness of Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull gets a his first ever cold.

Lady Trevelyan, as he'd discovered most people called her, came to see him frequently. She was the kind of person who sunk her teeth into one thing and didn't let it go until she knew everything there was to know about it. And she has sunk her teeth into The Iron Bull.

 

She asked questions about himself and about the Qunari in general. When they'd gotten to the discussion of sex she'd become more shy and suddenly awkward. He made note to bring up sex more often, just because he liked to see her squirm.

 

Krem had even become a vein overflowing with information and Lady Trevelyan eagerly asked all manner of questions. She'd even gone so far as to invite him out for a night of drinking.

 

Bull had spied them later that evening, Krem half carrying and half dragging her back to her little hovel. He'd offered to take her rest of the way and Krem had happily handed the poor woman off to him.

 

He scooped her wobbly frame into his arms and carried her back to her home. He even went so far as to help her into bed.

 

“Bull,” she called out when he moved toward the door.

 

“Yeah, boss?” he said, turning back to her with a softened expression on his face. Since he'd mentioned it, she'd been very good at calling him _The_ Iron Bull.

 

It always sounded wrong coming out of her mouth. Formal and heartless and _wrong_. Like she was some fine noblewoman and he was some roguish mercenary sent by daddy to keep her safe, but never allowed to touch her or look at her too long.

 

Well she was a fine noblewoman and he was a roguish mercenary, but there was no daddy and no rules against looking _or_ touching.

 

“Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?” She looked down at her marked hand and then back at him. “Sometimes it's hard to sleep.”

 

“And having a Qunari watching you from the end of your bed will make it easier?” he asked, but he was already moving back toward her.

 

He sat on the end and slid backwards until he was against the wall. “Now go to sleep.”

 

She nodded and closed her eyes.

 

Bull sat still as stone until he heard her breathing slow. It was the most relaxed he had seen her in the whole time they'd known each other.

 

 _A goddess of fire and blood and death,_ echoed through his mind once more.

 

He tried to see her as he'd first seen her, but he only saw her softness and it felt wrong.

 

He left in a relative rush, quiet as the Ben-Hassrath he was, and made his way back to his tent.

 

Krem was talking to the stable master when Bull caught his attention and he said goodnight.

 

“You were gone an awful long time. Get lost on your way back, chief?” Krem asked with a laugh.

 

He knew what he was insinuating and it made his stomach churn which was confusing and so unlike him it made his stomach churn more. He felt suddenly felt _so very sick._

 

The Iron Bull, unflappable and so strong of stomach he'd not lost his liquor in his whole life, keeled over and lost his dinner in the snow.

 

When he'd seemed to regain his composure, Krem asked, “You going to be okay, Chief?”

 

Bull wasn't sure if it was confusion or fear or-- _oh he didn't feel well. Not well at all._

 

He moved past Krem and crashed into his tent. _He didn't feel well._

* * *

  


“The Iron Bull?” someone called from outside the tent.

 

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ he told himself. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

 

The flap of the tent swung open and a goddess haloed in sunlight poked her head in. “Do you mind if I come in?” she asked.

 

He just groaned. Which she seemed to take as yes as she moved into the tent.

 

He took up most of the space, but it was a big tent and she was a small woman. Something cold pressed against his head and he shivered.

 

“Sorry, just checking,” the goddess said over him.

 

It took him a minute or two or three or maybe more? Time seemed to move differently for some reason. But he'd realized the goddess was Lady Trevelyan.

 

“You've got sunlight in your hair,” he said. He wasn't sure why he'd said it, but looking up at her like this with the sun pouring in on her she looked magnificent.

 

She smiled and blushed.

 

Something stole the sun and he recognized it was Krem. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked her.

 

Lady Trevelyan nodded, “He's just sick. Cold must've finally gotten to him.” She turned to look at him, “You need to wear more clothes here. You're not used to this kind of weather and that's part of why you're ill.”

 

He didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he _could_ say anything.

 

She turned back to Krem, “Help me get him back to my place. There's not enough warmth here. He'll never get better.”

 

They'd managed to half guide and half drag him back to the little hovel she called home and into bed. She told Krem she could take it from here and had him tell Solas what was wrong. _He'll know how to help_ , she said.

 

He noticed she depended on the elf for a lot of things, and looked to him for help with magic when she didn't know what to do. A strangled noise escaped him and it made her laugh.

 

“You'll be fine, The Iron Bull. You've never gotten a cold before have you?” she asked.

 

 _Wrong,_ he thought again. He had to make her--“Stop.”

 

She looked at him with furrowed brows. “What?”

 

Words weren't coming to him the way they should have been and he didn't know how to get past it. He hated every second of this cold. He wanted to tell her so.

 

“The words aren't coming out, are they?” she asked.

 

He barely had enough in him to nod.

 

“I'll help you. Don't worry. By this time tomorrow you'll be...well not this bad at least. I can't guarantee perfection,” she said with a smile as she dabbed his face with a cloth.

 

He couldn't tell if he was hot or cold. Maybe he was both.

 

Solas came by for some time and Bull watched them talk. They were just out of earshot which made him wonder if he was deathly ill and they didn't want to tell him. He _felt_ deathly ill.

 

They seemed to talk for an eternity, but eventually Solas made his way out and she was left to tend to him. She brought him a cup of something she promised wasn't poison. Tasted like poison.

 

She spent a long time at his bedside, occasionally pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. She didn't say much and she didn't seem to mind his random bursts of indiscernible speech. Eventually he drifted into sleep.

* * *

  


When he woke he found himself alone in Lady Trevelyan’s bed. It felt strange, almost like he was no longer welcome.

 

He sat up and felt the room spin. He was about to call it quits and lay back down when the door clicked open and Lady Trevelyan came in.

 

“You feeling any better?” she asked, shuffling inside.

 

“Still feel like shit,” he said.

 

She nodded and made her way over to him, “I told you I couldn’t guarantee perfection.”

 

Bull wanted to tell her he didn’t expect perfection and that he was grateful either way, but his mind and his mouth still weren’t on the same page.

 

Lady Trevelyan had let him stay until dinner, by then he felt he’d overstayed his welcome and wanted to get back to his tent as soon as possible. She let him go, but warned him to dress warmer lest he fall ill again.

 

A little over a week later, she’d come to him with a large package wrapped in brown paper.

 

“Open it,” she urged, handing it to him with a wicked grin on her face.

  
Hesitantly, he did. Inside was a massive sweater in bright red. It buttoned in the front and he put it on. He felt ridiculous. He imagined he looked ridiculous. But the smile on Lady Trevelyan’s face made him promise to wear it at least sometimes. And he did, but only by himself in bed on especially cold nights.


	3. Flower Crowns in Blood Bathed Snow

_ He saved my life,  _ Lady Trevelyan kept saying.  _ He saved my life. _

 

Most everyone seemed at least mildly disturbed by the boy in ragged clothes who followed Lady Trevelyan around Haven. She insisted he come with them whenever they had somewhere they needed to go, which meant Bull was stuck with the kid more often than everyone else. He found the kid unsettling, sure, but he trusted her judgement and knew what it was like to have someone save your life.  _ You owed them. _

 

He had spied her and the kid in the trees beyond the training grounds. Doing what, he couldn’t tell until he’d rounded the corner to a snowball in the face.

 

“Iron Bull!” she exclaimed. He had  _ finally  _ gotten her to drop the The from his name. “I didn’t see you.” Her hands covered most of her face, but he could see the blush creeping across her cheeks.

 

“That’s probably the first time anyone’s said that to me,” he told her with a laugh. It was true, of course. He was too tall and too broad to go unnoticed.

 

Just then a snowball came flying out of the trees and hit her in the back. She tumbled into the snow, giggling like a child. The kid came out of the trees next, so fast Bull briefly thought he might’ve Fade Stepped. 

 

The kid fell to his knees beside her in the snow, “I’m sorry.” 

 

“Cole, you’re not supposed to apologize for winning a snowball fight. You’re supposed to celebrate. You are victorious!” she threw her hands into the air.

 

The kid threw his hands in the air as well. “I am victorious,” he deadpanned.

 

She just shook her head at him and smiled, “You’ll get it eventually.” She stood and turned to Bull. “You want to play with us? It’s always more fun with more people,” she asked him.

 

Instead of answering he just scooped up a ball of snow and chucked it a her. They later caught the attention of Cassandra and Cullen who somewhat begrudgingly decided to join them. Eventually it seemed like most of the Inner Circle had joined in. It was dark by the time everyone had finally called it quits.

 

Bull thought it was a good day.

* * *

 

They’d spent most of the day hunting ram in the Hinterlands. Lady Trevelyan had given the meat to the hunter and they set up camp by the horsemaster’s farm. It was a quiet day. It had been a quiet  _ several  _ days.

Bull didn’t like it. 

He felt restless, which made him feel caged and that made him cranky.

Bull had been pacing by the water for he couldn’t remember how long now. Behind him sat Lady Trevelyan and Cole, weaving together daisies.

“How can you be so calm?” he ground out, turning to face them. “We haven’t had a good fight in days!”

Lady Trevelyan weaved the stems of the daisies with such smooth and elegant twists, he’d almost lost himself in the motions.  _ Almost.  _ Her fingers tangled the flowers together until finally they became a full circle. 

She rose from her cross-legged position in the grass with one fluid motion and walked toward him. Her fingers bent in a gesture that said  _ lean down _ and he complied.

A wreath of daisies was gently placed on his head and he took care to not let it fall as he stood straight.

A small smile kissed the edges of her lips and in turn it made Bull smile.

“See?” she said. “You can be calm. If you want to be.”

“Thanks, boss,” he said. 

She nodded shyly, “Anytime.”

 

* * *

 

Lady Trevelyan called them  _ flower crowns _ and she was making them  _ constantly _ . During treks through the Hinterlands she’d pick flowers as she walked and would proceed to weave them together until she was satisfied. Then she’d turn to them and hold it out for one of them to take.

Solas was  _ always  _ the first. He’d place it on his head and smile at her. “Thank you da’len. It is lovely,” he’d tell her. Bull had never seen him lose one. Even in battle.

Cole would ask her for a particular kind. He’d point out flowers he liked and she’d weave him elaborate crowns of flowers in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. No crown ever came out the same. Bull admired the thought she put into each one.

One evening on the way back to camp he’d stood beside her as she wove. The flowers were bigger than usual and came in shades of red. He watched her fingers tangle the stems together with practiced grace.

After what seemed like an eternity it was finished. It was a thing of beauty, really. Little red flowers tied between larger, darker ones.

She held it up to him. “For you,” she said gently.

It occurred to him that she’d never made one  _ for  _ him. She’d given him plenty. He was amassing quite the collection. But none of them were made  _ for  _ him.

Bull took the crown in his hands and placed it on his head. It was bulky and his horns made it sit awkwardly, but he didn’t mind. “How do I look, boss?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.

“Absolutely dashing,” she said through giggles.

He liked the way her smile reached her eyes. He wanted to live in her eyes.

“Thanks, boss. I feel dashing,” he told her.

Later, when no one was looking he wrapped the crown in a scrap of fabric and placed it in his pack to keep safe.

 

* * *

 

It was late. Bull sat by the campfire, staring into the flames. To his right sat Lady Trevelyan as she stitched up a hole in a pair of Solas’ leggings.

Technically he was on watch, but she had insisted on staying up with him. She made excuses about needing to fix some clothes and he’d conceded. He knew she was combating her nightmares by not sleeping. It wasn’t his place to say anything about it so he just let her sew.

“Iron Bull,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her, “Yeah, boss?”

“Do you ever have nightmares?” she asked him, her voice not more than a whisper.

He did. Not as often as he used to and never as bad as Seheron, but he had nightmares. “Sure, but you can’t let them get to you, boss,” he told her.

Gently, she put Solas’ leggings to the side and moved toward him on her knees. He fought his wandering mind as it conjured images of all the things one could do while on their knees. 

She knelt before him, still as stone. Her face looked sad and lost. It caused a scraping pain in his chest.

Lady Trevelyan raised her left hand and as if to prove a point, her mark sparked and crackled. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, but I get nightmares. The most horrible nightmares I’ve had since my Harrowing,” she said, her voice hoarse. 

While he was no expert on circle mages, he did know what the Harrowing was. He also knew there was nothing he could say to help her. There was no words that would stop the nightmares. So he settled on the only thing he could think of, “I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, she smiled, “Thanks, Iron Bull.”

Suddenly, like an animal spooked, she stood. Her eyes were wild and in her hand she held fire.

“What is it?” he asked, looking around.

She spread her arms wide before clapping her hands together. A bolt of lightning came from seemingly nowhere and struck down a man just on the edge of the camp. 

A goddess of fire and blood and death slid past him and ran to the body of the man she’d just struck down. He was quick to follow.

At her feet lay a man curled in on himself and whining like a child. “State your business,” she said, her voice hard and unforgiving.

The man took a break from his whining to spit at her boots.

Electricity crackled in her palm and in it’s purple glow she looked cruel and beautiful. She knelt down and gripped the man by the collar of his shirt. Holding the ball of electricity up to his face she said once more, “State your business.”

As the man poised to spit at her again, she shifted her hand to his throat and let him choke on his own saliva for a moment. Loosening her grip just enough to let him breathe, she smiled. “Wrong answer,” she said on a whisper.

Fluidly, she shifted to stand and in the same motion placed her boot on the man’s throat. She then let the ball of electricity crash against his face.

The man’s body convulsed and quickly stilled.

Disgusted, she turned away, “Damn bandits.”

  
It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could shift from soft spoken noblewoman to battle hardened bitch. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on at least a little.


	4. A Mistake

Lady Trevelyan was an astounding healer. She had an astounding bedside manner and could field dress a wound like he'd never seen. Bull was beginning to prefer her to Stitches. 

 

Not that Stitches wasn't great; Lady Trevelyan was just better.

 

He went to her for  _ everything.  _ The slightest cut and he went to her. Krem thought it was hilarious.

 

After a particularly bad battle she would check on everyone, Cole first, then Bull, and Solas last as he always seemed to be able to take care of himself.

 

This time he had made the mistake of catching her swinging her spectral blade wildly, beheading two men in one swing. How fluidly she moved with that hulking weapon lit up his insides, always the picture of grace and elegance.

 

She spun to look at him and her eyes went wide. Without hesitation she Fade Stepped past him,  _ around  _ him, but she was just a moment too late. 

 

Bull felt the blade biting into his side before he saw it. He moved to kill the man, but she was already cutting him down with her spectral blade.

 

Lady Trevelyan stood heaving over the cooling corpse, drenched in the dead man’s blood. She turned on him then, storming forward like she would rain fire on him.

 

“What were you thinking?!” she shrieked, throwing her hands in the air.

 

Cole and Solas dispatched the last of the bandits before coming to see the commotion.

 

“Da’len, perhaps you could yell at him  _ after  _ he gets medical attention,” Solas said, eyeing the wound as it seeped blood.

 

The elf’s words seemed to snap her out of whatever rage fueled rampage she was about to unleash on him.

 

In one fluid motion she was on him, her hand glowing golden as it hovered over the gash.

 

It didn’t really hurt. He’d had far worse, but the look in her eyes as she healed him was terribly painful.

 

Disapproval and  _ something  _ else shone in her eyes. “Pay more attention or you’ll get yourself killed, Iron Bull,” she told him firmly before turning and walking away.

 

Cole stepped to his side, “She’s upset. You got hurt. Now she’s angry. Why is she angry?” The boy looked up at him and his icy eyes were just visible beyond the edge of his floppy hat.

 

“Because she cares, Cole. Because she cares,” Solas said gently. “Go check on her.”

 

The kid wandered off after Lady Trevelyan, leaving Bull with Solas.

 

Bull poked at the bright pink of his flesh where the wound had been. He had been stupid and careless.

 

Feeling the elf’s eyes on him, Bull looked up, “Yes, Solas? You have something to say?”

 

Solas shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms behind his back. “She is  quite impressive in battle, isn’t she?” he asked. It was a question that answered itself, so Bull kept quiet. “But that does not give you an excuse to be distracted. You are lucky it was not more serious an injury.”

 

“Thanks, Solas. That  _ really  _ makes me feel better.”

  
“It was not meant to,” Solas told him before walking off.


	5. Lost to the Snow

Bull had been dreaming of her for the past few nights. Each dream varied. Sometimes she was upset about something and he comforted her. Other times she was naked and he comforted her in a different way. 

 

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamt about another woman. But he was usually awake and it was typically considered fantasizing. He also  _ typically _ ended up with in bed with them some point soon after.

 

But Lady Trevelyan was an anomaly in many things so he shouldn't have been surprised. 

 

Except he was.

 

She would often stop to chat with him on her way to the smith. It was always idle banter. Never anything serious or particularly important. It was making him uncomfortable.

 

Every trip she took without him was agony. He found himself wondering about her in ways he couldn't pass off as merely worried about the safety of his boss. 

 

Even when she was around it wasn't right.  _ He  _ wasn't right. She would be bantering with Solas and he'd catch the elf’s gaze lingering on her too long and it made him seethe. Her smile made him dizzy and her laugh made his stomach do backflips.

 

He felt like he was losing his mind.

 

But that wasn't the worst of it.

 

The worst of it was watching her go up against a creature near four times her size. Watching the monster throw her around like she weighed nothing; the sight of her last act of defiance as the trebuchet set off the avalanche.

 

He was sure his heart had stopped when she disappeared into the snow.

 

They went to search for her and he volunteered eagerly. Krem gave him an odd look, but he didn't have it in him to care. He accompanied Cullen and a band of soldiers.

 

Cullen had caught sight of her first as she collapsed into the snow.

 

Bull went racing toward her, heart in his throat. In one motion he scooped her up into his arms. “She’s breathing!” he called out. 

 

“Barely,” he muttered to himself.

 

It was a long trek back to where they made camp and he hoped she would make it that long.

 

“Iron Bull?” she croaked. 

 

He felt scraped raw. “Yeah, boss. It's me,” he said gently.

 

The corners of her lips pulled up into a barely smile. “You're warm,” she said, nuzzling up against him.

 

“Qunari thing,” he told her.

 

“No. I think it's an Iron Bull thing,” she said hoarsely. 

 

He forced out a laugh.

 

“I want to tell you something,” she said, opening her eyes to look up at him.

 

She looked so fragile and small in his arms. He wondered how she had survived this long.

 

He shook his head, “I don't want to hear it. Whatever it is can wait.”

 

“But,” she started.

 

Firmly he told her, “No.” 

 

She seemed to drift off then and he picked up his pace.

 

_ He couldn't lose her. _

 

* * *

 

When they got back to camp he handed her off to the healers and was ushered away. He waited nearby, the tent always in his view.

“You should sit with her,” Mother Giselle said from behind him. “She could use the company in her time of need.”

Bull didn’t move.

“I know you care for her,” she said.

He stood instantly, turning to look back at her as he made move to walk away. “No,” he said firmly. “No.”

 

* * *

 

Mother Giselle’s words swam in his head all night. He could barely sleep and every time he closed his eyes all he could see was how fragile she looked in his arms. He was losing his mind. 

It wasn't that he  _ didn't  _ care for Lady Trevelyan. He did. She was gentle and kind in most things. In battle she was a warrior goddess sent from the heavens to destroy all those who sought to do harm. He cared.

Except what he felt was beyond just caring. He was losing his mind over her.

Then she woke and she guided them until they found Skyhold.

He watched in awe as she stood on the steps holding that sword over her head and spoke about fighting as one. She looked ethereal with the sun in her hair and her vibrant eyes set on crowd.

_ A Goddess of Fire and Blood and Death  _


End file.
